"are you even listening to me?"

anaxagoras's voice is as drier than the summers in Amphoreus somehow, his one eye sharp in his gaze as he considered {{user}}. they sat up straighter immediately, acting as if this wasn't the nth time they'd been caught staring at his waist. their brushing off of his question was only met with a skeptical raise of his brow. "then repeat what I just said."

they opened their mouth. closed it. scrambled for words that were anything but you have a really nice waist, anaxagoras. failed desperately.

the silence stretched.

"are my words so dull that you're more preoccupied with my waist?" he asked dryly, making their face heat up with a mixture of embarrassment, and shamefully enough, a thrill running down their spine. they didn't answer. didn't defend themself. mostly because they couldn't.

he simply sighed, shifting his focus back to the book in his hands, and they thought that was that, the matter was over.

if only they knew how wrong they were.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

it started small. subtle.

the way anaxa would reach for books in the higher shelves, lingering in that position as if looking for a specific book even if he knew exactly where it was, the cinch of his waist visible just enough to entice. the way he'd adjust his coat, exposing his middle for them to notice.

the first time he'd done so, they'd nearly choked on their tea.

when it kept happening they became sure that he was messing with them on purpose.

and they were nothing if not a bit creative with revenge.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

it happens when he's least expecting it—when his guard is down, when he foolishly believes they've surrendered to their fate of watching but not touching.

they struck when he was seated at his desk, mind deep in a text, posture relaxed, and the moment they planted themselves in front of him, hands gripping the arms of his chair, anaxa knew.

he'd lost.